


A Breach Of Etiquette

by ShippersList



Series: Resoni [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Mating, Badass!Castiel, Castiel is a possessive bastard, Copious Amounts of Wing Oil, Dom!Cas, Dom/sub, Everybody's An Angel, Fighting For The Mating Right, Grace!sex, It's possible that there's even an actual plot, M/M, Snarky!Dean, Sub!Dean, wing!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/pseuds/ShippersList
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the New Season’s Ball, and Dean and Sam are attending. Dean is an unmated submissive angel, and, to his chagrin, thus chaperoned by his baby brother. Although Dean isn’t exactly submissive as such, except he is, and that’s really the problem. See, Castiel is a traditional dominant. </p><p>OR</p><p>The time when Dean met the angel who actually managed to dominate him.</p><p>Song<br/>Adiemus: <a href="http://open.spotify.com/track/0ZtG9hI2SiZNumE4QvdT1d">Song of The Spirit</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breach Of Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majestic_duck (majesticduxk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/gifts).
  * Inspired by [On The Natural Progression of Rut in the Single Alpha Male](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184258) by [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining). 



> This is for majestic_duck, because she is awesome and totally deserves hugs. And some sub!Dean.  
> My thanks for LightOnSnow for the grammar check.  
> (I'm blaming [Naoe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Naoe/) for this. She said that I shy away from porny times. Challenge accepted!)
> 
> This might read as non-con or dub-con, but dom/sub fighting is a part of the mating rituals in this ’verse. In the end, Dean is 100% willing. If you are overly worried, check the end notes for ease of mind.

 

”Fuck, I’m so bored.”

Sam sighed and ignored his brother. They had arrived only an hour ago, and it would be considered extremely rude to leave so soon – especially when the Ball was just getting started for real. Besides, it had been Dean who had insisted on coming, and now that they actually were there, they would enjoy themselves, dammit.

The Great Hall was elegantly decorated with bright ribbons and fabrics, and color coordinated to the point of, well, _boring,_ like Dean would put it. It wasn’t an environment they usually liked to hang out in, but all in all it was quite nice, Sam decided. It wasn’t like they would get the chance to attend very many balls like this, being from the outskirts of the realm, which was several days of flying distance from the Capital. Besides, the family business of hunting rogue sprites kept them busy pretty much all the time. It was by pure luck they had managed to get Garth, Ash and Jo to cover for them for the duration of their journey.

”Sooooooooo booooooooored. Sammy, can we go now?”

”Stop the whining, Dean,” Sam flicked his wings in annoyance. ”You wanted to come, so we came.”

”But I thought it would be more fun!” Dean’s voice was petulant and his wings drooped in a dramatic slump that was completely fake.

Sam rolled his eyes. ”Honestly, what did you think this would be? I tried to tell you that you’d probably hate it here, but you said you wanted to come. This is the New Season’s Ball, it’s all about socializing, gossiping, networking, and checking out the prospect of possible mates. And I really can't –”

He stopped at the look on his brother’s face. It was gone in an instant, but Sam knew what he had seen.

”Dean, are we here to search for a mate for you?”

”No!” Dean snorted and turned his head a little, his wings flaring with indignation.

Sam studied him carefully for a moment. Dean was a master of deception, but Sam had lived with him for his whole life, and he knew Dean better than anyone. Better than Dean knew himself, in fact. His brother was already beyond the proper mating age, and, in some social circles, considered as a lost case and a spinster doomed to live alone. Sam knew that the situation was mostly of Dean’s own choosing. His brother was a submissive in name only, and everything else in him screamed of insubordination. When they had been younger, Dean had often been mistaken as the dominant one because he had been taking care of both the family business and Sam. Living on the literal Edge left very little room for what was considered proper submissive behavior, and, after nearly two decades of conditioning, it seemed that Dean was a dominant through and through.

If it weren’t for the mating seasons, he probably would’ve pulled it off.

The mating season was the only thing about his gender that Dean couldn’t escape. Once a year he went into heat, and no amount of dominant posturing could make it go away. Since he wasn’t mated, he had to endure his heats alone, and, over time, they had become more and more taxing to his system. The burden of the submissive gender was that Dean actually _needed_ a dominant in order to stay functional.

Which obviously had led them here – at the New Season’s Ball. Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth. Finding a mate in a Ball filled with conservative and class-conscious angels was tricky in the first place, and, for Dean, it would we even more challenging. He glanced at his brother and suppressed a sigh.

His brother was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, and there was nothing gentle, submissive or delicate in his posture. Dean’s eyes scanned the crowd with the practiced ease of the hunter that he was, and he leaned on the doorframe in mock-relaxed way, ready to leap into action if needed. Sam had no problems admitting that his brother was a thing of lethal beauty. Unfortunately, the unmated dominants didn’t share his opinion. He could see the scornful looks thrown in Dean’s direction and he heard at least three mutter comments about the insubordinate submissive who didn’t know his place. Although Dean’s posture didn’t change, Sam saw the slight tremor of his wings, betraying that Dean had heard the comments as well.

”I’ll go get some more punch,” Sam offered and wandered off to the buffet table.

From afar, it was even more obvious. It was like Dean was inside a bubble, subtly but pointedly ignored. Suddenly Sam felt sick. Fuck etiquette, they should just leave. He grabbed two glasses of punch and shouldered his way back to his brother. Dean deserved better than what this ball had to offer anyway.

 

* * *

 

Yeah. Fuck this ball. Fuck these stuffy angels, fuck this Capitol, fuck his gender, fuck everything. What the Hell had he been thinking, coming _here_ in search of a mate? Dean could _feel_ the contempt pouring off of the other angels in the Hall, their judgmental frowns and sneering faces telling him exactly how welcome he was. He squared his shoulders and shook his wings just to spite their delicate asses.

Oh, Dean knew what he was. He was a too-old submissive that hadn’t been able to find a mate. That, in itself, was dubious, but paired with his physique and attitude, he was pretty much destined to be alone. He couldn’t help his frame, his wing-span or his height, and he _wouldn’t_ change his attitude. Simpering submission could get you killed in the Edge, and Dean generally liked to be alive, thank you very much.

It sucked rocks to be a submissive angel. Not only was he expected to be delicate, demure and, yeah, _submissive,_ he was also expected to be meek and let his dominant take care of him. Given the fact that Dean had been taking care of himself and Sam for a freaking long time already, and keeping the Edge secure at the same time, he didn't exactly fall into the category of an ’ideal submissive.’

Yeah, sure. He could admit that at times he wondered what it would be like to give up the control, to trust and let go. But he had yet to meet a dominant who was up to the task. Every single dominant he had come across in his life, including Sam, had yielded to him, never even close to dominating him properly. It was frustrating, but also frightening. If he didn’t find his dominant soon, his life would be significantly harder with coming heats, and, in the worst case, literally over. Unmated submissives tended to wither and die due to the strain of their heats, and the body of a strong submissive like Dean, would be under an even bigger strain.

Sam had guessed what this all was about, but Dean had sort of resigned to it. Sam was his brother, and, after living their whole lives in each other’s pockets, they knew each other pretty well. It was okay that Sam knew Dean was desperate, but the pity on Sam’s face wasn’t. Dean could handle sneers and demeaning comments from strangers, but he couldn’t handle pity from his own brother.

He sighed. Sam had gone to get some punch and left Dean alone. The other angels gave him a wide berth, their opinion about him subtle but clear. Dean stretched and shook his wings, which earned disapproving glances from an elderly dominant on his left. Dean grinned widely and saluted, and was amused to see the dominant’s eyes widen in scandalized shock, before turning around sharply. Dean shrugged and shifted a little to look at the door that offered as interesting a view as a fallen log in the woods.

Until the door opened and admitted two angels. The shorter one sauntered in confidently, and Dean huffed a laugh. It took one to know one, and Dean recognized immediately that, despite his cocky posture and confident looks, the angel in question was a submissive. The one that followed, though… Dean blinked and did a double-take. That one was a dominant as fuck, the power rolling off from him in waves. The guy was wearing a scowl and he glared after the shorter one, who had bounced off to the buffet in a flash.

”Gabriel!” The dominant growled, and _fuck_ what a voice. It rumbled from the guy like a thunder, the grace crackling around him, making his deep blue wings sparkle, and boy if that didn’t make Dean feel like a mooning girl. Which was a bit unfortunate, considering that the dominant was obviously herding his mate. The good ones were always taken, Dean sighed morosely.

”Chill out, bro!” The shorter angel quipped from the buffet table, completely ignorant of the turning heads and the furious scowl of his… Bro?

They were brothers?

Dean’s wings perked up and he focused on the dominant. Powerful, yes, both in body and grace. That one could probably be more than a match for him. For the first time in a long, long time, Dean was definitely interested. Which, of course, was the perfect time for Sam to return and block the view with his massive frame.

”Move, gigantor!” he hissed.

Sam frowned and stepped aside, but it was already too late. The dominant had vanished in the crowd. Dean huffed in frustration and started to look around, trying to locate the angel in question. All the colors of the spectrum were on display, but he couldn’t find the midnight blue wings he was looking for.

”We can leave if you want to,” Sam said softly, looking a bit pained.

”What?” Dean frowned absently, preoccupied with scanning the crowd.

”I said -- are you looking for someone?”

Dean shrugged, not ready to admit anything.

”Dean…” Sam warned.

”Okay, okay. Yeah, I’m looking for someone,” he answered, a little impatiently.

”Who?”

”I – I don’t know, okay? I just saw him.”

”You just saw him,” Sam repeated slowly. ”Dean, are you sure –”

”Shut up, Sam,” Dean snarled. He couldn’t stand his brother’s pity, and he sure as Hell couldn’t stand his condescending attitude, either. Besides, ”There he is!”

Dean’s wings gave a little nervous flutter, and from the corner of his eye he saw Sam’s eyes widen. The fact that he didn't choose to act like an average submissive didn’t mean he wasn’t able to do it.

”I’m gonna go and talk to him,” he announced and started towards the dominant. He heard Sam’s urgent, ”Oh no, Dean, wait!” from behind him, but Dean paid him no heed. Sam was a wussy and a spoil-sport anyway.

Dean walked with a confidence he didn’t exactly feel, making a beeline to the dominant. He knew his wings were quivering between chosen dominance and instinctive submission, but he decided to ignore them. The dominant was talking to someone, and Dean waited with barely contained impatience for him to finish his sentence. When he did, Dean jumped right in.

”Hi,” he grinned cheekily. ”I’m Dean. Haven’t seen you around before.”

The dominant angel ignored him. Dean frowned. He wasn’t used to being ignored, but he also wasn’t a quitter.

”So, what’s your name?”

Still no answer, although the deep blue wings rippled for a fraction. Dean pressed his lips together, annoyed.

”Hey, you could at least answer me,” he snapped.

 _That_ got a reaction. The dominant turned to look at him with narrowed eyes, and whoa, blue!

The other angel looked Dean from head to toe. ”I don’t think we have been properly introduced,” he commented, turned, and walked away, wings stiff.

Dean stared after him and remembered to close his mouth only when he heard someone snicker. He blinked and glanced around quickly, and realized that everyone was staring at him. He had been put in his place, rejected in the middle of the New Season Ball. To add his embarrassment, he realized his wings had dropped in automatic surrender. Dean blushed and fled the Hall, an eruption of furious whispering tailing him.

He ended up on a balcony overlooking the Capitol. The lights of the city were brilliant and vibrant, but they held no beauty for him. He gripped the railing and forced his breathing to even out. The whispers and snickering were nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. He would cool down a bit and then leave. Perhaps he should just fly out from the balcony, nevermind that it was considered uncivilized. He had been publicly humiliated already, which had pretty much sealed his chances of ever finding a mate, and jumping to the flight from the balcony like a common crow wouldn’t really make a difference now, would it?

He was contemplating the jump when he heard the door open. His wings snapped wide in aggression, hiding his feelings.

”Don’t,” he gritted tightly through his teeth. ”Just, leave it.”

”Dean, I’m sorry! I tried to warn you, but you didn’t listen. Castiel is a strictly traditional dominant and acts by the book in pretty much everything.”

”Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it,” Dean muttered. Just his luck: the one time he found a potential dominant, it blew up in his face. And all because of his own impatience.

”Dean –”

”I need a drink,” he interrupted and stomped back inside.

Dean was surprised he was even served, but then, he was the clown of the night, right? It was probably in the ball-goers best interests to let him drink and entertain them even more. In some other night Dean might have done it: drunk himself stupid and pick a fight, but this night was different. The humiliation had actually stung, and he didn’t exactly enjoy the feeling of being under observation. He downed his drink and decided it was time to leave.

The corridor outside the Hall was empty, angels busy celebrating inside. Dean walked briskly, wanting to be fucking anywhere but here. He was lost in his thoughts and started when a heavy hand gripped his shoulder. He reigned in his automatic reaction of a counter-attack and swirled from under the hand in one fluid motion instead.

”Well, wasn't that a pretty move.”

Dean assessed the dominant in front of him. The guy was a bit older, out of shape, balding and soft, with a smirk on his lips and a lazy arch about his wings. A bureaucrat.

”You can stop that glaring now and kneel to me.”

Dean snorted. ”Really?”

The dominant’s eyes went cold. ”Yes. To me. You don’t seem to have that much options, do you?”

”Me being publicly rejected doesn’t mean that I would kneel to any dickwad who happens to fancy it.”

Grace crackled around them and the dominant furled his wings open. ”You _will_ kneel to me!” He growled, visibly annoyed at being sneered at.

Dean bared his teeth. ”Make me,” he snarled back.

It really wasn’t much of a fight. Even with his dominance and grace, the dominant was significantly weaker than Dean. He was sorely out of shape, and clearly had no experience in combat. Dean, on the other hand, had been sparring and fighting for the majority of his life, and sometimes literally _for_ his life. It was no feat to dodge and block the feeble hits the dominant tried to get through, and even his grace cage was a ridiculous, wispy thing Dean knocked down with a nudge of his own grace. Dean toyed with him for a moment, venting out his frustration, but eventually he got bored and slammed the older man to the floor, pinning his hand behind his back and gripping his neck. It was the traditional pose for a dominant angel to demand a submission in fight, and the fact that Dean, a submissive, was demanding surrender from a dominant, rankled the older angel significantly.

”You’ll never have a mate, you freak,” he spat when he scrambled up from the floor after Dean had released him.

”I’d rather be alone than mate someone like you,” Dean answered coolly, shook his wings and turned his back to the dominant. It was a deliberate move that showed exactly how much he respected and feared the other one, which was not at all. He stretched his neck with his eyes closed and squared his shoulders. When he raised his head and opened his eyes, he was looking right at Castiel, the dominant who had humiliated him earlier.

”Well, Mr. By-The-Book. Came to gloat?” Dean mocked. ”Oh, right. You can’t talk to me, because _we’re not properly introduced.”_

Castiel blinked. ”It was never my intention for anything like this to happen. My apologies.”

”Hey, jackass. Fuck off, will you? I don't need your pity,” Dean spat and turned to go. Interestingly enough, turning his back on Castiel felt different that turning his back on the previous dominant. Different like _Oh, holy fuck you’re turning your back on the most powerful dominant you’ve ever met, are you fucking insane!?_

There was a slight rustle behind him. ”You will show be some respect,” Castiel growled as he gripped Dean’s shoulder, and didn't that just make an electric current soar through him.

This time Dean didn’t dance away, because first, he was fucking pissed, and, second, he knew how powerful his challenger was. He whirled around, hit Castiel’s hand away, and released a grace-enhanced kick to the dominant’s chest. The impact knocked Castiel off his feet and he landed on his ass with a surprised look.

”Make me,” Dean snarled, repeating the line he had delivered to the elderly dominant only a short while ago. He knew he was in trouble, of course, and he braced himself, body coiled and ready, wings spread high.

Castiel climbed calmly on his feet, only the stiff arch of his wings belying his anger. ”You are a fighter,” he commented.

”No shit,” Dean countered. ”And you’re pretty fucking smart one.”

Castiel’s eyes flashed. ”You are mouthy for a submissive.”

”Oh, but I’m so much more than that,” Dean grinned wolfishly.

To be honest, it really wasn’t that much of a fight this time either. Dean didn’t hold back at all, fighting with all his grace, using all the tricks he had learned throughout the years, but it soon became clear that he stood no chance against Castiel. In fact, it was rather obvious that Castiel was playing with him, blocking his hits and suppressing his grace, never trying to actually hit him. It was fucking annoying.

”Stop playing games,” Dean grunted. ”You’re not even being serious!”

”And what makes you think that?” The fucker wasn’t even out of breath.

”You’re making fun of me. Just get it over with, beat me into submission. Isn’t that what a traditional dominant does to a insubordinate submissive?”

In a blur of movement Dean was on his stomach, Castiel’s hand gripping his neck and the other pinning his arm behind his back. He had ended up in the exact same position he had pinned the balding dominant after their non-combat.

”I never wanted to force you into submission,” Castiel growled into his ear. ”I only expected some manners.”

”Fuck you!” Dean managed and struggled against Castiel’s hold.

”I think it goes the other way round,” the dominant deadpanned.

”Make me,” Dean hissed through his teeth and redoubled his efforts to throw the dominant off. It didn’t work, of course. He felt Castiel’s grace around him, caging him and restricting him. But it was a gentle cage, meant to make him feel secured, not paralyzed. Anyway, it was a fucking powerful cage, and Dean didn’t even bother to fight it in earnest. Would’ve probably done as much good as trying to move a rock with a feather.

Castiel sighed. ”I could ’make you’ do a lot of things, but I’d rather you did it willingly.”

”Do what willingly?” Dean gritted through his teeth.

”Kneel to me.”

Dean froze for a second, then started to laugh. ”Are you fucking kidding me?” He wheezed in between gusts of laughter. ”First you humiliate me in front of everyone and then you just expect me to submit to you?” He felt Castiel stiffen and his hold ease a bit, and Dean used that as as an advantage to break away from the grace cage and throw the dominant off.

Castiel stood slowly. ”You approached me, remember,” he reminded with a frown. ”You advanced on me in front of everyone, and if you ended up being ridiculed, that’s all on you. Had you made your interest known in an appropriate way –”

”Oh, fuck you and your self-righteous morals,” Dean hissed. ”Why don’t you just go back to the Hall and laugh at my expense, huh? I bet you’ll get a fuck-ton of new friends to go along.” He swirled around and started towards the nearest exit, his whole frame tensed to the extreme. _He would not fucking cry!_ He thought at the burning feeling in his eyes. Not over some pompous and arrogant dominant.

”Stop!”

Dean didn’t stop, although his wings gave an involuntary twitch without his consent at the power directed at him. He flared his wings in an equivalent of flipping a finger, and stomped on.

With a rustle and a crackle of thunder, Dean was pressed against the wall, his wings flattened and held still with Castiel’s grace, and Castiel’s hand gripping his neck.

”When I say stop, I expect to be obeyed,” the dominant growled into his ear.

”And when I stop, it’s because I choose to, not because I’m forced to,” Dean managed, and reached inside himself to tap into the core of his grace. He would not be compelled, and, because he honestly had nothing left to lose, he could just as well go nuclear.

”Wait –”

The full force of his unleashed grace sang through him, bursting from him in a bright halo, expanding rapidly and burning through everything it touched.

Well. _Almost_ everything.

”You are reckless, disobedient and stubborn,” Castiel sighed. ”You could’ve hurt yourself by unleashing your grace like that.”

Dean swayed and would’ve slid on the floor if Castiel hadn’t held him up. So, this was it. He had tried, and failed. Considering Castiel’s earlier comments he didn’t know what to expect, but he was pretty sure it was nothing good. The dominant had rejected him in public but demanded his submission in private, and it really didn’t take a genius to figure out what the guy was after. The only thing Dean didn’t get was why the hell Castiel wasn't fried crisp by the blast of his grace.

”– but it’s your decision.”

What was? Castiel had been talking the whole time, but Dean had no clue about what. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He realized he was slumped on the floor in half-kneeling position, and he jerked up, but discovered he couldn’t move. Castiel’s grace held him in tight embrace, and Dean slumped in defeat, turning his head away from the dominant.

Castiel sighed again as he reached out to grasp Dean’s chin and made him to meet his eyes.

”What’s your name?”

”Dean,” he answered tonelessly, and tried to shift his gaze somewhere behind Castiel’s left ear. Castiel wouldn’t have any of it, though, and he squeezed Dean’s jaw a little, forcing his eyes back to his.

”Dean, you will look at me when I’m speaking to you, do you understand?” Castiel didn’t wait for an affirmation. ”I’m going to make you an offer, and you are going to answer me.”

”I meant what I said earlier: You are stubborn, disobedient and reckless, completely out of line. I apologize that my reaction to your advances caused you unwanted attention, but you were more than capable of handling the pursuer on your own. I do not apologize for my reaction, though, and that is something you have to accept. Like I said, had you approached me properly, through your familial dominant, I would’ve reacted differently.

”My offer is this: you will kneel to me and I will accept you. I expect to be obeyed when I give an order. I also expect some good manners, that is non-negotiable. What I do not expect, however, is mindless submission, although I severely suspect you are capable of it. In return, I offer you security, status and a chance to balance yourself. You are an exceptionally strong submissive, and, because of that, have been unable to find a dominant strong enough to mate you.

”So, what’s your answer?”

Dean looked at the dominant levelly. Great. Fucking great. ”How the fuck are you unharmed?”

Castiel cocked his brow. ”I don't think that’s what I asked,” he mused, but the corner of his lip twitched a little. ”But, since you wanted to know… Were I an average angel, you would’ve fried me, yes. But I’m an archangel, and no matter how strong you are, you can’t really damage me.” He brushed his thumb gently over Dean’s lower lip and, despite his efforts, Dean shivered at the sensation.

”I’m still waiting for your answer, you know.”

Dean swallowed. ”Do I have a choice? You’ll either mate me out of pity or out of dominance, and it’s not like I have anything to say.” He couldn’t bite back the bitterness seeping into his voice.

”I’m not going to force you,” Castiel frowned. ”I already said that it’s your decision. If you reject me I’ll let you go, after replenishing your grace, of course. I will not pursue you or try to influence you. But…” Castiel paused and he glanced momentarily away, before turning to look at Dean again.

”I’m not going to lie to you. You have greatly impressed me, Dean. You are a remarkable angel, submissive or not, and despite your… _personality,_ your grace burns so bright it’s almost blinding. I’ve never met anyone like you, and I would be honored to be your dominant, to make you mine.” Castiel’s voice had dropped even lower, and the possessive growl Castiel ended his sentence made Dean’s breath hitch. He stared into Castiel’s eyes, drowning in the intensity and desire he was sure hadn’t been there before.

An archangel? He had fought an archangel? The information sunk in a bit late and made his head spin. He had fought an archangel and survived, and now said archangel wanted to mate him? How the fuck was this his life?

Dean closed his eyes and thought for a while. He was really out of options here. Without a mate, his body would stop functioning properly in a couple of years anyway. The prospect of mating an archangel was tempting – the possibility of having a mate who was actually able to dominate the Hell out of him was something he hadn’t even dared to dream of. Okay, the guy was a traditionalist, but so what? He seemed like a good guy, and Dean couldn’t detect anything funky about him.

There was just a couple of things left to check.

”I have two questions,” he said, opening his eyes and looking Castiel straight in the eye.

Castiel nodded calmly, but Dean saw his wings tremble ever so slightly.

”One: will you force me to stop working? And two: will you deny me seeing my brother?”

”Why would I do anything like that?” Castiel asked, genuinely confused. Dean shrugged and turned his head away a little, but Castiel made him to meet his eyes, again. God, that was annoying!

”I don’t like repeating myself, but, since you don’t know me yet, I’ll make an exception. I will not force you, not now, and not later on, should you choose to kneel to me. You are your own person, Dean, and I’ve no wish to change it. But, if you kneel to me, I’ll expect your submission, your obedience _and_ some manners. I’ll expect you to trust me. You would be mine and I would do everything in my power to make you feel important, worthy and loved.”

Dean felt himself blush. The last line hadn’t actually been anything he had expected, especially the l-word. He felt vulnerable and small in Castiel’s hold, but he also felt safe. And he was so fucking tired of being alone and bearing the responsibilities of his job alone. So he brushed Castiel’s hand away and scrambled awkwardly onto his knees by himself, pitifully grateful that Castiel didn’t even offer to help him with his grace. He lowered his wings and clasped his hands behind his back, took a deep breath and bowed his head, ending up in the formal pose of submission.

”I submit,” he said, and was proud that his voice quavered only a little.

Castiel reached out to cup his cheek, and looked solemnly into his eyes for a moment. ”I accept your submission,” he nodded, bent down and kissed him lightly. ”Thank you, Dean,” he said softly against his lips. Then he kissed him again, roughly and possessively, as his right hand slipped to grip Dean’s neck.

”Dean! Are you okay?”

Sam had a perfect timing, as always. Castiel’s wings furled fully open as he growled and whirled around to assess the newcomer, his grace in a vibrating cloud around him. Dean didn’t move, but from the corner of his eye he saw Sam freeze. He lowered his wings submissively in front of Castiel’s aggressive display of dominance, but he didn’t retreat.

”Who are you?”

”I’m Dean’s brother. Dean, are you alright?”

”Dean is fine. Now –”

”With all due respect, Castiel, I’d like to hear it from him,” Sam snapped.

Well. Nice to know that the insubordination and complete lack of self-preservation in front of an archangel ran in the family. Dean felt the impatience thrum through Castiel, but the dominant took a step away from in front of him.

”Dean?”

”Sam, piss off. I’m fine.”

”Are you sure? If he’s forcing you, I swear to God –”

Dean’s wings flared high as he scrambled up. ”He’s not. Now, shut up and fuck off, bitch,” he snapped.

”Okay, okay,” Sam raised his hands. ”Don’t get your panties in a twist, jerk.” He turned to face Castiel, and, after a moment of scrutiny, bowed formally. ”I acknowledge you, Castiel.”

Castiel blinked, then returned the bow. ”I acknowledge you, Sam. And I will take care of your brother.”

Sam pursed his lips. ”You better,” he stated, before he backed away, turning his back only after a considerable distance away.

Dean was watching his brother’s retreat with a grin when Castiel turned to look at him again. The dominant’s eyes were stormy and dark, and the grin slowly faded from Dean’s face. Suddenly the air around them was tense and charged, and Dean felt nervous. Castiel stalked to him, his wings stiffly spread. Intellectually, Dean was fully aware what was going to happen, but emotionally he was ready to bolt. He was partially prepared for Castiel to make him kneel again, but the dominant merely gripped his neck again, staring intensely into Dean’s eyes. Dean had the height advantage, but Castiel still managed to loom over him, his wings perched high in the traditional display of dominance over a mate.

He was slowly pressed against Castiel’s chest, never breaking eye contact. He was vaguely aware of Castiel’s wings gently wrapping around him, cocooning him and caressing his wings, their feathers meshing. It was an exquisite feeling, and Dean wasn’t quite able to keep his eyes fixed in Castiel’s, and they fluttered close despite his efforts. He felt Castiel’s hand gently rub his back, moving in slow circles between the curve of his ass and the base of his wings. He gripped the lapels of Castiel’s coat, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do with his hands. Then Castiel kissed him and Dean forgot what he was thinking about.

It was a kiss that stated dominance and possession, demanded submission and entrance, and Dean granted it all. He went pliant and open, and let Castiel kiss him with force, like he owned Dean – which he did. Dean’s head was spinning and he trembled, but he was secured against Castiel, and with a low whine he let go.

The effect on Castiel was instantaneous. His grip on Dean’s neck became almost painful, and Dean went willingly, letting Castiel tip them over. He fell slowly on his back, unaware what was beneath him, but trusting that Castiel would know. Their fall was cushioned by Castiel’s grace, and Dean landed gently on his back, his wings splayed open and vulnerable. He realized that they were naked, but he didn’t think about how they had ended up there. Castiel’s naked form was a solid weight on him, and the plains of skin stretching over him felt glorious. He reached out his hand to touch, but didn’t have the chance, when Castiel raised his head, narrowed his eyes and pinned his hands above his head with a flick of his grace.

”No,” Castiel growled. ”This time, I’m the only one allowed to touch. But you may scream.”

Dean blinked furiously and swallowed, his head momentarily cleared. He tensed up, which didn’t go unnoticed.

”I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me,” Castiel murmured against his lips, caressing Dean’s wings with his own. He kissed his way along Dean’s jaw to his ear, licked the pulse point and bit gently his earlobe.

”Let go, Dean.”

And he did.

It was a sea of sensation: Castiel’s wings intertwining with his own, his lips kissing their way along Deans body and his grace caressing him _everywhere,_ creating a sensory build-up that left Dean floating in bliss. He was a mass of pulsing and throbbing want, and he was dimly aware that he was making a low noise that made no sense. His hands were still pinned above his head by Castiel’s grace, his wings were quivering and fluttering under the administrations of Castiel’s wings and he was naked with his legs spread open. He had never in his life been even remotely as blatantly vulnerable, open, and naked in every way, but, with Castiel, he felt safe.

”Open your eyes.”

Dean snapped his eyes open to see Castiel sitting on his haunches, looking at him. He had Dean partially on his lap, his legs on each side of him. Their erections jutted upwards, close to each other, but not touching. Castiel looked magnificent: his hair was disheveled, his tanned skin flushed and slightly sweaty, and his wings raised high, slowly swaying back and forth. His eyes held a wild look, and once Dean’s eyes latched on his, he couldn’t look away, not even when Castiel’s gaze roamed over his naked form.

Castiel didn’t move and kept his hands on Dean’s hips, supporting him, but Dean was touched anyway. He felt a peculiar caress move from his temple towards his jaw, mapping his skin, every freckle and wrinkle of it. He was touched by Castiel’s grace, and it was the most intimate thing he had ever felt. The grace slid slowly and deliberately down his neck, dipped to the hollow at the base of his throat and pulsed there in the rhythm of his heart. Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Castiel’s grace swirled slowly around for a moment, then it spread out to caress Dean’s chest. When it brushed over his nipples, Dean bit his lip in attempt to stifle a whimper, and failed.

Castiel tilted his head to the side a little and narrowed his eyes. ”Don’t suppress the noises you make. I want to hear you. Do you understand?”

Dean flushed bright red, but nodded. Castiel’s eyes softened a fraction and he stroked Dean’s hips a couple of times, until he relaxed again. His grace had continued to pulse languidly on Dean’s chest, and now, it slowly picked up its caressing once more. It circled around his nipples, brushed over them ever so gently, making Dean whimper over and over again.

He was aware that his oil glands had started to leak, preparing him for the mating, but so far Castiel had paid them no heed. Instead, Dean felt another tendril of grace caressing his groin, right where he was splayed open on Castiel’s lap. It curled around the base of his cock, traveled with soft swipes along the shaft to the glans, tipped ever so gently to the slit and then down the shaft again, only to start again. It created a continuous loop of pleasure, and Dean let out a low wail at the feeling – it was too much, too much, the feeling too intense. When he felt yet another tendril of grace touch his hole, the sensory overload went overboard and his eyes rolled over and he came with a hoarse cry.

When he came back to, the dominant was leaning over him with a slightly worried look. When Dean was able to focus his eyes, Castiel’s frown smoothed.

”Are you alright?”

Dean nodded, because he didn’t trust his voice just yet. He found out that he was able to move his hands again, and he reached out for Castiel’s face before he realized what he was doing. He froze, his hands in the air, looking wide-eyed at Castiel.

”You’re allowed to touch now.”

Dean brought his hands hesitantly closer, traced the line from Castiel’s temple towards his jaw, brushed his lips, and cupped his cheek, following the movement with his eyes. He felt the dominant’s intense gaze on his face and, in sudden shyness, he dropped his hands and turned his head away.

”Don’t shy away from me. You have no reason to. You were good – more than good – you were magnificent. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are in your surrender?”

Dean blushed furiously and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Castiel sigh and mutter something under his breath, before his head was, once again, turned to face Castiel. He waited for the order to open his eyes, but Castiel kissed him instead, deeply and hungrily. Dean hesitated for a moment, then raised his hands to tentatively stroke Castiel’s wings. He received a groan, not a reproach, and deduced that it was probably okay to touch. He carded his fingers through the inky feathers, marveled at the strength of the massive appendages and their deep midnight blue shade that made them look like they harbored galaxies within.

He was so preoccupied with Castiel’s wings and mouth that he almost missed the grace pressing against his hole. He twitched slightly despite himself, then relaxed and spread his legs to give Castiel more room. The dominant growled his approval, and Dean felt warmth surging through him: he had pleased his dominant, he had been good. Castiel lowered himself on the top of him, slotting his frame snugly between Dean’s legs. Castiel’s cock was hard and pressing against Dean’s abdomen. It felt _huge,_ and for a split second Dean was worried. Then Castiel kissed him again, and Dean remembered that Castiel had promised that he wouldn’t hurt him.

Castiel’s grace breached him gently, easily, like it was always meant to do so. Dean could feel it inside him, pulsing and circling steadily, stretching him with utmost care. When it had swollen enough to press continuously over his prostate, Dean bucked and gasped his way out from the kiss. Castiel didn’t chase his lips anymore, but kissed his way down his torso, finally sitting back on his haunches and watching him with hooded eyes. Dean wondered briefly what he was up to, and then he _knew._

When Castiel’s grace caressed his swollen oil glands and tenderly squeezed them, Dean screamed. It was pleasure bordering pain, because the glands were swollen huge with mating oil and thus overly sensitive, and even the extremely careful milking made Dean whither and sob. By the hiss coming from Castiel, he guessed that the dominant was milking his own oil glands as well, but the knowledge was soon lost in the pain/pleasure radiating from his wings through his whole body.

After a while, his cock was hardening again, and Dean could feel that it wasn’t Castiel’s grace breaching his hole anymore, but his fingers. He opened his eyes to see that the dominant had coated his fingers with his own oil and was now preparing Dean for the mating. The overwhelming intensity from his oil glands had lessened into blissful throbbing, and Dean was grateful that Castiel had waited for that to happen before proceeding.

Castiel sensed him watching and raised his eyes. ”I’m going to take you now, Dean,” he said, his voice wrecked with want. He didn’t do anything, though, and then it hit Dean that Castiel was probably waiting for his consent, so he nodded.

The fingers were carefully withdrawn, and Dean bit back a whimper at the sense of emptiness, even though he knew he was going to be more than full very soon. His dominant rose on his knees, took a hold of Dean’s hips and slowly, slowly pushed in. Even with the preparation, it was too much, and Dean whimpered and thrashed, trying to find something to hold on to. He felt Castiel’s grace gently caging and restricting him, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, he needed more – and then he felt Castiel’s wings brush him, and he grabbed a hold of them. If Castiel’s grunt was anything to go by, the grip actually hurt him, but Dean didn’t have the capacity to apologize. His dominant inched forward agonizingly slowly until he was fully seated. When he stopped, he ordered Dean to open his eyes again.

Castiel was trembling with restraint to the tips of his wings, a sheen of sweat covering his face and chest, and his eyes glowed with grace as he moved slowly, waiting for Dean to adjust. Dean drowned in his eyes, not quite believing he had ended up here, mating an actual archangel who treated him like he was something precious.

”You are,” Castiel rasped, and Dean wasn’t sure if the guy had read his mind or if he had spoken out loud. ”You are precious and you are _mine.”_ The possessive growl wormed its way somewhere deep inside Dean, to some aching hole he didn’t know he had, and, with a gasp, he realized he was filled, complete.

”Yours,” he managed and turned his head to bare his throat.

He didn’t have to do that; Castiel had already manifested his dominance over him earlier, and Dean had submitted to him. But this felt right, this complete surrender, and Dean was willing to give it. He felt Castiel freeze, and then his hand closed very, very gently around Dean’s throat. Dean exhaled and went boneless.

When Castiel started to rock slowly, Dean was floating. Castiel’s hand on his throat was what kept him connected to the physical world, his mind and body already gone beyond his reach. His dominant picked speed, his thrusts gaining more strength, but his hand stayed gentle and caressing. At some point Dean felt the hold change, as Castiel moved his grip to his neck and, with the help of his grace, pulled Dean to sit on his lap. Dean gasped at the sensation of Castiel’s cock burying itself impossibly deep inside him, and, for a moment, it was overwhelming him again. Then he felt Castiel’s hands, gripping his neck and circling his waist, and he was grounded once more.

Their graces were blazing around them, Castiel’s power so much brighter than Dean’s nearly exhausted one, merging into each other. He felt Castiel’s wings surround him, heavy with oil, and when their feathers meshed he could feel the exact moment when Castiel’s oil made contact with his glands. It was like an extended electric shock with flavor, and it left him shivering. He felt Castiel shiver and knew that his dominant was experiencing the same imprinting of oils as he was.

Castiel gripped him tighter and his moves became erratic as he closed on his orgasm. Dean buried his hands in Castiel’s wings and wrapped his legs around the dominant’s middle, pressing himself closer, _closer,_ like he could melt into Castiel. The movement caused a delicious friction to his cock that was trapped between them, and Dean came for a second time, spilling on their stomachs with a sob. His climax pushed Castiel over the edge, and he came with a guttural cry, clutching Dean in a vice grip.

They stayed like that, intertwined in body, wings and grace, mentally and physically exhausted. Dean nuzzled his face against Castiel’s neck and Castiel rubbed slow circles around Dean’s sides and back. Dean realized he quite liked the feeling of being held, at least by Castiel. He had had sex before, lots of it, but he had never submitted to anyone before, and, of course, none of his partners had been an archangel. That made quite a difference, really. Not that he would ever admit his feeling to anyone, especially Sam.

He felt Castiel give a sort of a whole-body shudder, and then the dominant raised his head from Dean’s shoulder.

”Are you alright?”

”Peachy,” Dean croaked. Castiel didn’t look convinced and gave him a flat stare. Dean rolled his eyes. ”I’m fine, really. I’m going to be fucking sore, I guess, but otherwise… yeah. I’m fine.”

Castiel’s eyes widened a fraction. ”Did I hurt you?”

”Um, no? Soreness sort of comes with the package, Cas.”

”…Cas?”

Dean shrugged. ”Yeah. Your name’s a mouthful, after all.”

The dominant raised a brow. ”Well. It’ better than ’Cassie,’ which my brother likes to use.”

”Your brother? Oh, the short submissive that came with you?”

”How did you know that Gabriel is a submissive?” Castiel frowned.

”It takes one to know one,” Dean grinned. ”Is Gabriel also an arch–.” Then he realized.

Archangel lines ran in families, and there was only one archangel named Gabriel. _The_ Gabriel. He was mated to the brother of the Voice of God. He was so fucked, so, so fucked. He had mated way beyond his pay grade, he was so out of his depth, and, oh shit _oh shit oh shit –_

”Dean!” A hand gripped his neck almost painfully, forcing him to focus on his dominant. ”Dean, what is it?”

”Your brother is the archangel Gabriel. _The_ archangel Gabriel,” Dean blurted, like it explained it all.

”And?”

”And – everything!” Dean flailed his hands and his wings flared, and he would’ve probably fallen from Castiel’s softening cock if the dominant hadn’t been gripping his neck.

”Calm yourself, Dean. I don’t understand why you’re panicking.”

”I’m not panicking,” he sputtered, definitely panicked. ”Much,” he added with resignation and slumped to lean his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder.

He felt Castiel sigh. ”If you’re referring to our different social statuses, I can assure you that I don’t give a damn about them, and I know for certain that Gabriel gives even less. He is, like he says, ’out of fucks to give’.”

Dean snorted despite himself.

”Speaking of brothers, you and your brother seem to share some characteristics. Like stubbornness,” Castiel stated dryly, as he helped Dean up from his lap. Dean winced at the soreness and the feeling of come dribbling down his thigh, because, _eww._

”He’s had the best teacher,” he quipped and grinned at Castiel’s eye-roll when the dominant stood up.

The floor was soaked with oil and errant feathers. Castiel frowned and then cleaned the space with a flicker of his grace. Their clothes were in a neat pile by the wall, but Dean didn’t make a move to put them on. Castiel gave him a bemused look.

”You are free to go naked if you like, but I’d prefer you were clothed in public.”

”What – No!” Dean squeaked. ”I mean, I’m all oily and jizzy.”

”And?”

Dean rolled his eyes. _”And_ I’d like to clean up, and I could use some help since my batteries are running low.”

”No,” Castiel said flatly, already halfway dressed.

”No? What do you mean, ’no’?”

”No, I’m not going to help you clean up. I want you to be covered in my scent, my oil and my sperm, the physical proof of our mating visible to everyone.”

Dean’s mouth fell open and he stared at Castiel, who calmly laced his shoes. ”Possessive bastard,” he muttered and snapped his mouth shut.

”Yes, I am,” Castiel answered smugly, and so what if the remark made Dean feel all mushy?

He dressed himself gingerly, wincing at the dried come on his stomach and the drag of his oil-heavy wings. When he was finally ready, he sighed, rolled his shoulders, and turned towards the doors.

Castiel cleared his throat. ”Where do you think you’re going?”

”Um. Home?”

”We need to get back to the Hall to announce our mating.”

Dean groaned. ”Do we have to?”

”Yes.”

”But I don’t want to!” Dean complained and shook his wings, splattering little droplets of oil to the walls.

Castiel’s eyes flashed and he took hold of Dean’s neck. ”We are going to do this ’by the book’, like you so adeptly put it. We are going to announce our mating in the Hall. And you will dance with me.”

Dean bristled. ”I _so_ don’t dance!”

”You _will_ dance with me, properly,” the dominant growled and tightened his hold on Dean’s neck, and Dean went completely limp. Crap, he was so whipped.

Castiel led them to the Hall, and for once in his life, Dean felt shy and demure. Their wings were dripping with oil and their disheveled looks were practically screaming that they had just mated. He tucked his wings closer and hid his face in Castiel’s neck, and more felt than heard the approving low growl from his mate. From the corner of his eye he saw that Castiel had raised his wings high and curled them loosely around them, both shielding his submissive and displaying the amount of oil they had absorbed.

Dean could hear the surprised and incredulous gasps all around them, but he didn't really give a fuck. Castiel had established his dominance over him, and Dean had submitted, and the rest of the Heaven could go to Hell for all he cared. Castiel’s hand was a steady grip on his neck, stating his dominance and possessiveness, and Dean was helpless in his hold. When Castiel led them to the dance floor, Dean kept his wings submissively lowered, their soft undersides open for Castiel.

”Look at me,” Castiel murmured, when they started to dance. Dean raised his head and locked into his eyes. He couldn’t turn his gaze away, didn’t even want to, and they spun around and around, lost in each other. Dean was pressed against Castiel’s chest, and all he could see, feel and hear was Castiel. And he had never felt so complete.

 

* * *

 

So it looks like his brother was a submissive after all, Sam mused as he watched the spinning pair completely absorbed in each other. He was more than happy for Dean, although he was a little overwhelmed by the fact that his brother had ended up mating a traditional dominant. But as long as Dean was happy (and Castiel treated him right), it was okay.

”Well, wasn’t that some jolly good news?”

His drink was nearly knocked from his hand when he had his lap full of golden-brown feathers. He brushed them aside and frowned at a small, older angel who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, nursing a rather disturbing looking drink that had all the possible garnishes perched in it.

”Um, excuse me?”

”I said ’Well, wasn’t that some jolly good news?’, and by that I meant that our brothers are mated,” the angel – Castiel’s brother – nodded at the direction of said couple. ”Wouldn’t have pegged your bro as being a submissive, though,” he added and pursed his lips. ”But then, looks can be deceiving.”

”Ah,” Sam commented smartly. Was the other flirting with him?

The older angel shook his wings and stretched them a little, and Sam’s eyes were drawn to the golden plumage, the soft swaying of the wings and – Yeah. Definitely flirting.

His thoughts were interrupted by a smirked ”Coming?” and a cocked eye brow. He followed the other angel with a grin, checking out the lines of his body on the way. The older male’s behavior was nowhere near submissive, but he didn’t mind.

After all, Sam had had a great teacher.

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of words about this verse:
> 
> • There are two types of angels: dominants and submissives. Submissives go into heat once in a year and will eventually need a dominant mate to relieve it. The longer the sub stays without a dominant, the more violent the heats become, ending in madness/death.  
> • Fighting is an essential element of the mating process. The dominant needs to prove his/her worth to their submissive, and the fights can be quite violent. Sometimes dominants fight with each other for the right to fight with the submissive, although the public fighting pits have been closed for centuries already.  
> • In the end, the submissive decides whether he/she wants to mate or not. Forced kneeling is reprehensible, although it does happen at times. The dominant is expected to respect the submissive's decision.  
> • After the ritual kneeling, mating is sealed during coitus. The mating bond is completed through the merging of grace, wing oils, and semen (copious amounts of bodily fluids, yay!).  
> • The level of dom/sub behavior during the daily life is completely up the mated pair.


End file.
